“So you think,” she said reflectively, “that we are too happy. Do you fear the envy of the gods?”
“I do,” Glaucus whispered, as though afraid of being heard by invisible ears.
“Console yourself, my friend. The happy gods have no wishes. But I have one so important to me that the doubt of its fulfilment is a thorn in my heart.”
“And what is this desire?” asked Glaucus in surprise.
“That, when our lives draw near their end, we may die together. Think, Glaucus, if one of us should suddenly be left alone. Beneficent Gods! how often I have prayed ye to avert this misfortune.”
“Beware, Charicleia!” said Glaucus gravely. “Do not pray for foolish things. Life and death are in the power of the gods—what do we know about them? Perhaps you would bitterly repent your wish, if the heavenly powers should grant it.”
“Oh, no, no!” cried Charicleia. “Let death come when and as it will, if it only snatches us away together.”
With these words she drew the curtain of the tent aside. Before them lay the glittering sea, furrowed with its greenish billows, which seemed to roll sleepily away in the sunshine. In the distance two of the Cyclades raised their rocky heights towards the sky, and far away to the north towered some bluish-black clouds, so sharply outlined against the clear azure of the heavens that they resembled jagged mountain peaks.
“If my wish has found favor with Ye, Heavenly Powers,” cried Charicleia, raising her arms with southern fervor towards the sky, “oh! give me, in my husband’s presence, a sign that my prayer will be granted.”
Stepping entirely out of the pavilion she gazed around her. Glaucus had risen from the couch and, standing in the shadow, followed the direction of her glance. Even little Callias had a presentiment that something was expected. Pausing in his play, he ran to his mother and took hold of her dress.